I Am Fire
by harlequinsmiles
Summary: Project I did for school with four different style pieces, from Abigail's point of view. Something different.
1. Descriptive

I wrote this for an English project and thought I'd share. We were supposed to write four short different-styled pieces from the point of view of a character- I chose Abigail, of course, since I have an affinity for the bad-ass characters =P

II. Narrative

I AM FIRE.

Everyone fears to see me come, and yet I spread through Salem on a fierce wind, devouring all who attempt to extinguish me.

I grow. I become more powerful. The headiness of my lies engulfs them all like a thick, black smoke. They gasp for air, hands clawing at doorways, searching for an escape.

But there is none. There is no God for these people but me.

Once I was a flame among many others- a tame, flickering candle, amusing to consider, but of not great consequence to the wider world. And how did I become this force to be reckoned with?

What happened is this:

A good, kind man named John Proctor decided one day that he would sit awhile and admire my simple beauty. He became. . .absorbed with me. And with one swift, fatal movement, he tipped the candle over, and it caught paper, which caught wood, and soon his whole house was alight with my glow.

This man played with fire, and now he will get burned.

You see here before you a girl, and she has changed. She had now such shrewdness. Such anger. And such envy of love.

And the power which she has discovered is enough to shake the ground beneath her feet.

So now I will take revenge and they will all of them feed the wildfire I have become.


	2. Narrative

Some say it always rains in Boston.

It does so always for me.

Here is finally the truth of realization: I have lied, and I have killed, and I have been ruthless and spiteful.

I see now that God is a greater fire than Myself. I have played with Him, and now it is I who shall burn.

Never had I intended it to end this way. I was to be a hero and to have all that I wanted, to have the trust and admiration of that small town.

Not to be bought and sold each night, under a sky that never stops crying. God weeps for my foolishness.

_Abigail, _he cries_, what have you done?_

In everyone passing I see the faces of all that I had condemned to death- in an old housewife, the gentle countenance of Rebecca Nurse. In a young, quiet women standing on the corner, Sarah Good's silent, accusing gaze. And in a handsome, brown-eyed man looking through a shop window, John Proctor.

It was me. I killed him. I killed them all. By day I see them everywhere I turn, by night I suffer a more enduring sort of hell- but I see it all as a lesson. I can forever be nothing more than Abigail, cold and newly repentant, the girl who cried "witch."


	3. Persuasive

_John,_

_ I stand here before you now, and I do something utterly unlike me- I plead._

_ I am on m knees. I pray that you will look upon me with the same softness that I know I saw in you before._

_ I am no longer a child. You look on me as if I were some silly thing and call me this! How I shudder to think of it._

_ What kind of child could serve you the way I did? Indeed, even what sort of woman?_

_ Your dear Elizabeth is less than dust. She is nothing more than an insect that crawls about the town, spreading a disease of lies. I hear what she says of me. Will you let this continue? Will you allow her to say these things about sweet Abigail, who made your bed and swept your floor, did all the things that a little girl should do and more to make you happy? Oh, it is a cold wife you keep indeed._

_ Can you deny it, John? All that's passed between us? If you are able, I see a soul in dire need of searching a soul with want for God._

_ I may even see a witch._

_ Most Lovingly,_

_ Abigail_


	4. Reflective

Some say it always rains in Boston.

It does so always for me.

Here is finally the truth of realization: I have lied, and I have killed, and I have been ruthless and spiteful.

I see now that God is a greater fire than Myself. I have played with Him, and now it is I who shall burn.

Never had I intended it to end this way. I was to be a hero and to have all that I wanted, to have the trust and admiration of that small town.

Not to be bought and sold each night, under a sky that never stops crying. God weeps for my foolishness.

_Abigail, _he cries_, what have you done?_

In everyone passing I see the faces of all that I had condemned to death- in an old housewife, the gentle countenance of Rebecca Nurse. In a young, quiet women standing on the corner, Sarah Good's silent, accusing gaze. And in a handsome, brown-eyed man looking through a shop window, John Proctor.

It was me. I killed him. I killed them all. By day I see them everywhere I turn, by night I suffer a more enduring sort of hell- but I see it all as a lesson. I can forever be nothing more than Abigail, cold and newly repentant, the girl who cried "witch."


End file.
